One Small Step
by Lil black dog
Summary: Christine Chapel's first day aboard the Enterprise was not without its highs...and lows. Inspired by two free writes at Ad Astra.


Christine Chapel's first day aboard the _Enterprise_ was not without its highs…and lows.

A/N: Again, this piece was inspired by two free writes. The first portion was posted as a chapter to 'Moments.' The latter half was drawn from the free write entitled 'Berth of a Career,' and just seemed to be a natural progression of events.

**One Small Step**

She pulled the covers up to her chin, snuggling down into the warmth of the Starfleet-issue comforter. Fatigue tugged at her like a strong dog on a short leash, but the thoughts continued to churn in her mind, playing over the events of the day. The first part had been nothing to write home about, but the latter half had left her second-guessing herself. Had this lateral move really been the right one, or like everyone seemed to think, was she in over her head? Here for all the wrong reasons? This was her first posting aboard a starship, and things had started off with a bang—quite literally…

oooOOOooo

_Could this day possibly get any worse?_ she thought grimly, hurriedly stuffing her personal belongings into the dresser of her assigned quarters. She'd been on board for just half an hour, and was already wondering just what she'd gotten herself into.

_I'm here to find Roger_, she reminded herself. _My life will be in a constant state of limbo until I finally know whether or not he's alive or dead._

Finished with the unpacking, she flopped down onto the thin, Starfleet-issue mattress, hugging the pillow tightly to her chest. She wasn't scheduled to be on duty for another hour, so she'd use this time to get her bearings, quash her severe case of nerves; find her center.

The day had started off poorly. It had taken her over a week to even convince her last boss to recommend her for this position. "You're doing it for all the wrong reasons, Chris," she had insisted. "Space can be a very dangerous place, especially when you're assigned to Starfleet's flagship. No man is worth your life."

"It's not just about Roger," she had argued vehemently, albeit not totally accurately. Her fiancé had been doing archaeological work on Exo III, but his research team had been out of touch with Starfleet for over five years. The _Enterprise_ was slated to visit that world in the next few months. She'd be furthering her career _and _discovering her fiancé's fate. The best of both worlds. "I'm a scientist, a bio-researcher. Space and the new alien worlds we'll visit represent the best place to make cutting-edge discoveries in my field. I'd be a fool to pass up a chance like this. Besides, they say the science officer on the _Enterprise_ is the best in the fleet. Imagine what it'd be like to work under his tutelage."

Mara had scoffed openly. "Well, in case you hadn't heard, the man's a _Vulcan_," she spat out forcefully. "If you want to work for a lackluster, emotionless cold fish that's your business, but I doubt that you—or anyone else in his department for that matter—will get any personal, one-on-one mentoring. You might as well be working for a computer."

Christine had been shocked by the vehemence of the response. Mara had never exhibited such a case of full-blown racial bigotry before. _I'll need to find somewhere else to work regardless, _she thought grimly, resolutely.

But Mara had seen fit to recommend her for the position nonetheless, and after a cursory two-week-long OCS course at the Academy she'd been commissioned as an ensign in Starfleet a month ago, winning the coveted spot as head nurse for the _Enterprise_. The ship had been out on patrol, and she'd been at Starbase Twelve for ten days now, awaiting her chance to meet up with her newly-assigned vessel.

The ship had arrived this morning, but when Christine went to the personnel office to get her orders, they'd been unable to locate them, either in hard copy form or on the computer. After several hours of heated back-and-forth discussions between the office's commanding officer and the ship's CMO, a new set of orders had been cut, and she'd been on her way.

Her new boss had been the only one waiting to greet her when she arrived; the captain and first officer had had to beam down half an hour ago for a scheduled meeting with the Starfleet brass, he'd told her—rather irately—as he'd reached for one of her duffels.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be grousing at you, but the red-tape frustrates the hell out of me. Since being assigned here I've been begging for a suitable head nurse, and when they finally find one for me, they then tell me she doesn't have orders assigning her here. Damn bureaucracy, they have no idea what it's like to run a medical facility on a starship. I've also requested a doctor more versed in Vulcan physiology than I am, just in case something happens to our phlegmatic, walking database of a first officer. I've only been here a few months, but already the man seems to be a trouble magnet from a physical standpoint, mostly from his desire to protect us weak, fragile humans from harm. No telling what he'll get himself into over the course of this mission." The doctor stopped, puffing out his cheeks. "It'll be interesting to see how long the higher-ups sit on that. Probably until a crisis is narrowly averted, or worse. Nothing like closing the barn door after all the horses have escaped, but it's par for the course for Starfleet, I'm afraid."

She'd stared at him, slack jawed, unsure of how to respond.

"Well, don't stand there gawkin'," he'd admonished gruffly. "C'mon, follow me. Let's get you settled in." The doors to the transporter room parted, and he had exited in a huff.

She had been close on his heels when a hand on her arm stopped her. She had turned and found herself staring into soft, brown eyes, a mischievous grin turning up the corners of the man's mouth. "Don't let him fool ye," he'd said, a lilting Scottish accent making the words gentle, harmonious, strangely comforting. "Underneath that gruff, crotchety exterior beats the heart of a pussycat, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. Ye'll be fine, lassie. Don't let our doctor intimidate ye."

Relief had washed over her like soft, summer rain. "Thank you, sir," she'd whispered, doing her best to swallow the nervousness she knew was flashing on her face like a distress beacon.

"Name's Montgomery Scott, but everybody calls me Scotty," he'd announced, a knowing grin stretched over his face. He had patted her arm. "Don't worry lass, he doesn't—"

The whistle of the intercom above her bed caused her to start violently, snapping her back to the present. _I'll definitely have to figure out how to turn down the volume on _that, she thought absently, pushing herself to a seated position. She flipped the switch and the viewer sprang to life, filling with the face of Doctor McCoy.

"S_orry to bother you, Nurse, but it's typical to hit the ground running 'round here. I just got a call from Scotty. One of his crew suffered radiation burns to his hand while trying to swap out a worn baffle plate on the warp engines. He isn't here yet, but from the sound of things, it might require surgery, but will at least need a thorough cleaning and dressing. Since the majority of my staff is currently enjoying shore leave, and you are the new Head Nurse, looks like it falls to you to assist me. Be here in three minutes._" He paused, pushing his face closer to the viewer. "_Do you know how to get here, or do I need to send someone to collect you?"_

"No sir; I've been studying the schematics for the last few days. On my way," she informed him, climbing hurriedly to her feet, snapping off the viewer and rushing for the door to her cabin.

Flying out through the breach, she bumped smack into an immovable force, a strong hand on her upper arm the only thing keeping her from winding up unceremoniously on her backside on the deck. She glanced up…and froze.

"My pardon, Miss Chapel; most clumsy of me. I trust you are uninjured?" A slanted eyebrow crept toward sleek black bangs, the strong hand steadying her; setting her back on her feet.

"Uh…sorry, sir," she heard herself stammer. "Doctor McCoy just called me and I'm on my way to sickbay." She found she was unable to tear her gaze away from those dark, penetrating eyes, that unfathomable, alien aura.

"Then I shall not delay you further," came the calm, composed response. He released his hold on her arm, melting into the crowded corridor.

She stood motionless in the middle of the corridor, barely noticing the crush of bodies as they moved to avoid her, her eyes fixed on the narrow shoulders as they retreated into the distance, her breath coming in short, quick gasps, her heart pounding, her palms suddenly damp.

During her most intimate moments with Roger, she'd never been affected that way. She could still feel the heat of his fingers lingering on her arm, the mystique of those strange, bottomless eyes tugging at her soul. Closing her own, she willed herself to breathe normally, struggling to calm her racing pulse.

_You IDIOT!_ she admonished herself. _Way to make a horrible first impression, and on your ultimate superior, no less._ No chance that he didn't know who she was—he'd called her by name, after all. _Could you have acted any more like a lovesick schoolgirl caught up in her first crush?_ Her eyes snapped open. _Maybe he didn't notice—he is a Vulcan after all. Emotions are supposedly lost on them._ She turned, hurrying in the direction of sickbay. _Get a grip, girl_ she told herself. _You've already humiliated yourself once today; let's not piss off the doctor as well—he's crabby enough to begin with._ She set off down the corridor at a swift pace, determined to make a better impression on McCoy.

She'd arrived in sickbay with thirty seconds to spare, despite her unfortunate collision with the Vulcan first officer while en route. McCoy had turned from the tray he was prepping, opening his mouth to speak to her, when the doors swished open. She recognized Scotty, the man she had met in the transporter room not thirty minutes ago, with a young petty officer in tow, the lad cradling his left hand. Even from a distance she could see the angry red blisters, smell the burned flesh. Her first inclination had been to rush to the young man, his face pinched with pain and white as new-fallen snow, but she hesitated, looking uncertainly at McCoy. She'd been around enough to know that all doctors had their own way of doing things. Perhaps he wanted to assess the injury first, without her crowding him.

The chief surgeon only had eyes for the patient. "Daniels," he said amiably, patting the biobed before him, "hop up here and let's have a look." With help from Scotty, the lad was soon perched on the edge of the bed, holding out the limb in question for closer inspection. A hypo hissed against the boy's arm, and he seemed to relax at once, unclenching his jaw, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow with his good hand. McCoy gently drew the injured hand into his own, doing a visual examination before glancing at the medical scanner whirring in his other hand. "It's all superficial, thank God," he announced. "No deep tissue damage." Finally, he turned to his new head nurse. "Nurse Chapel, please flush and debride the wound. Once you're done we'll apply some nuSkin and a pressure bandage, and Daniels here will be as good as new."

"At once, Doctor," she'd replied, fishing the necessary articles off the tray McCoy had set up earlier. She glanced at her new boss, flashing him a smile of gratitude before turning to Daniels. He must have realized she wouldn't know where anything was yet; had done this as a way to make the transition easier on her, not to mention the patient. Not all doctors would have had the foresight to do so.

The ice-blue eyes of the CMO had then turned to the other department head in the room. "He'll need to be on light duty for a few days, Scotty. Nothing where he might damage that new patch of skin."

"Aye," the Scotsman agreed. "I'd already planned to assign him to cataloguin' the new equipment an' requisitions we picked up at Starbase Twelve. That should keep ye out of trouble for a few days, lad," he said affectionately, a soft smile brightening his features. "Ye're relieved from duty for the rest of yer shift," he informed the young petty officer, resting a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "An' now, if ye'll excuse me, I have to get back to engineerin'," he said, once again glancing at McCoy. "The lads are fine tunin' the deflector array an' the captain wants it done before we depart tomorrow." He focused on Daniels once again, his demeanor more serious now. "I'm glad ye're okay, lad. Next time, just be a little more careful, will ye? I want all members of my department goin' home with all their extremities intact." He favored the boy with a look of fatherly concern tempered with a touch of pride.

"I will, sir," Daniels squeaked out, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. With that, Scott turned and headed for the doors, disappearing into the crowded corridor beyond.

Once they had finished with Daniels and sent him on his way, McCoy showed Christine around the facility, ending the tour in the main ward, currently home to two patients. Both were suffering the after-effects of shore leave. A newly-minted ensign from communications had eaten something that disagreed with her. Unsure of whether it was a case of food poisoning or a yet undiscovered allergy, the doctor had decided to keep her here under observation for twenty-four hours.

The young man from security was sporting a black eye, and a hangover the size of Titan according to McCoy. At the moment he was asleep, snoring softly. When she'd questioned the doctor about why he didn't just administer a detox shot and clear the bruising with a regenerator, the answer had surprised her. The lieutenant junior-grade was relatively new to the ship. The captain didn't approve of fighting on shore leave for any reason, let alone being too inebriated to know better. As neither condition was life-threatening, Kirk hoped to instill a powerful life-lesson in the young man. Dealing with the hangover without the benefit of drugs was sure to make him think twice about overindulging in the future, and seeing the shiner staring back at him in the mirror for the next week would hopefully serve as a powerful reminder of the captain's non-violence policy. She'd heard mixed reviews of Starfleet's youngest captain, but her estimation of the man had just gone up several notches.

She'd only met a handful of the staff; sickbay was operating under a skeleton crew as most personnel were currently enjoying shore leave. During the remainder of her time on duty she familiarized herself with the various equipment and supplies and where these items were located. Some she had seen and used before, but others were state-of-the-art instruments and machines, necessary for the types of injuries that one expected to be dealing with on the front lines of space exploration. She'd put this relatively quiet time to good use. If another emergency arose, she'd be ahead of the curve. Doctor McCoy had promised to personally introduce her to the remaining doctors, nurses, corpsmen and orderlies once they were underway tomorrow.

Shift done, she headed for the main mess. Retrieving her tray from the synthesizer, she opted for a seat at an open table toward the back of the room. Slipping into a chair, she sat facing the sea of tables and the doors beyond. The room was abuzz with activity, most tables full, the sounds of spirited conversation, the chink of utensils on plates and the din of soft laughter filled the space. A hush settled over the mess as the doors swished open, the sound drawing her attention as well. The captain strode purposefully into the room, the first officer a step behind his right shoulder. Kirk favored the room with an easy grin, heading for the bank of synthesizers along the wall. The unintelligible cacophony started up again almost immediately, but Christine found herself hastily diverting her eyes. They had locked with those of the first officer briefly. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered the incident in the corridor at the start of her shift. With every fiber of her being she hoped the Vulcan had somehow forgotten their chance meeting of earlier. No luck there, she said to herself miserably as the XO began threading his way to her table. She pasted what she hoped was an unconcerned look on her face as he came to a stop before her.

"Miss Chapel, I see you have survived your first shift with our illustrious CMO."

"Uh, yes, thank you, sir," she stammered, grateful for the tabletop that concealed the knocking of her knees. Those soft brown eyes seemed to be looking right through her, as if they could read the innermost secrets etched on her soul. It was unnerving. She opened her mouth, prepared to spout off some senseless prattle when motion behind the XO caught her attention. She nearly fell out of her chair. The captain was on his way over as well.

"Nurse Chapel, welcome aboard," he said, gracing her with a warm smile, an oversized cup of a steaming liquid in his hand. She moved to stand but he waved her back into her seat. "I apologize that Mister Spock and I were unable to greet you when you first came aboard, but we had some pressing business to attend to on the surface. Allow us to formally introduce ourselves."

"Miss Chapel and I have already met," Spock stated truthfully.

"Oh?" the captain commented, his confused gaze shifting to his first as he took a cautious sip from his cup.

Christine swallowed, willing her churning stomach to be still. Vulcans were renowned for their truthfulness; there was no doubt her captain was about to hear firsthand how she had made an utter fool of herself. She braced for impact. It was bad enough things had gotten off to a shaky start with the second-in-command, as well as with McCoy—although she could hardly be faulted for that—but making a poor impression on the captain would put her 'oh for three' with her superiors—not where she wanted to be at all on her first day. Unbelievably, the Vulcan's answer was very nondescript. "Yes. A chance encounter when she was on her way to sickbay for her first shift." She glanced at the first officer, unable to conceal her shock, or gratitude.

Kirk eyed her, his grin widening. "I trust you didn't find your first encounter with our chief medical officer to be too daunting. Bones can come off as rather…intimidating to the uninitiated, but he's really not as cantankerous as he would have you think."

"No, sir," she lied evenly. Truth be told, he had scared the bejesus out of her: Surly and crotchety one minute, kindhearted and friendly the next. He had a gentle, calming manner with the patients, but seemed to have issues with authority and unbelievably, technology. She'd heard him in his office, smacking and cursing at a malfunctioning PADD, but he'd been soft-spoken and compassionate only a few minutes later, when talking to the lieutenant who'd just come around. He'd even offered the young man almost fatherly advice on how not to piss off his new CO. Her new boss was a paradox to be sure—his inimitable personality a curious mix of empathy, petulance and the barest hint of misanthropy. Just what had she gotten herself into? She felt like she was drowning; like all of the oxygen had suddenly been sucked from the room. "He seems like a fine officer, and an excellent physician," she added helpfully, willing herself not to say the wrong thing. In spite of that, the Vulcan seemed to take exception to her positive assessment.

"You obviously have not spent sufficient time with the good doctor," the first officer remarked immediately. Kirk favored him with a sharp glance, to which the Vulcan merely raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to look contrite in spite of himself.

The squeal of the boatswain's whistle brought a swift end to the encounter. "If you'll excuse me," Kirk said before heading for the nearest wall comm unit.

"Upon examining your personnel file, I came to discover your previous assignment was in bio-research," the Vulcan stated. "I am in need of a specialist in the lab to assist me with several ongoing experiments, should you desire to continue your research during your off-duty hours."

"Thank you, sir; I'd really enjoy that." What was that Mara had said about working for a computer? Mister Spock didn't seem like a cold fish to her at all. In fact, she was sure she could certainly benefit from his scientific expertise—that is, if she stayed aboard after the _Enterprise_ made her scheduled stop at Exo III and she had a chance to find Roger. She shivered slightly, remembering the feel of those warm, strong alien fingers on her arm. Up till now, she had been certain Roger was the man for her, but now she wasn't so sure…

Motion again interrupted her thoughts. Kirk was on his way back. "My apologies, Nurse, but we're needed on the bridge. I'd like to continue this discussion tomorrow, say at 16:00 in Briefing Room 2. I'd like to get your perspective on Doctor Korby, and see what your intentions are after we meet up with his team on Exo III in a few months."

"I'll be there, sir," she assured him. The captain collected Spock with a nod, and the two men turned and headed for the doors. She watched them go, intrigued by her new Command Team. At first glance, they seemed to be polar opposites: Kirk charismatic, charming and extroverted. The Vulcan quiet, reserved, focused on duty and the pursuit of knowledge, yet not without his own unique charms as well. He had seen fit to spare her the humiliation of informing the captain of the details of their first meeting, and there was no denying that his touch was positively electrifying.

She shook her head, focusing on her plate once again. _Stop it, girl, _she berated herself. _He's a Vulcan, and your superior officer to boot. Don't even go there._

These musings ended as well as a throat was cleared softly. She looked up into the smiling face of a short woman with warm, brown skin, wearing the red uniform of service personnel. "May I sit here?" she asked sweetly, her own dinner tray in hand. "All the other tables seem to be full."

Christine surveyed the room. The statement wasn't totally accurate, but she felt an instant connection to the woman. "By all means," she answered warmly, gesturing to an empty chair across the table.

The woman slipped in, extending her hand. "Nyota Uhura, Chief Communications Officer. Welcome aboard Nurse Chapel."

"Christine, please," she replied, grasping the proffered hand. "Tell me, Lieutenant, do I have two heads or something?" she asked. "Well, everyone seems to know who I am already," she supplied upon seeing Uhura's confused look. "I don't know whether to be flattered or frightened," she finished uneasily, something between a grin and a grimace stretched over her face.

Uhura chuckled, a melodic, musical sound. "Well, I can't speak for everyone else, but as the officer manning the communications console earlier today, I was the liaison between Doctor McCoy and Starbase Twelve's Personnel Office. The doctor was pretty mad by the time we got things sorted out. I just wanted to make sure you were okay; that he didn't take it out on you. Not that he would do so intentionally," she amended hurriedly, "but he sometimes forgets himself, and he really is a sweet man once you get past the gruff exterior."

Christine blinked. That was the fourth warning she had received today about her new immediate superior. Somehow, that didn't bode well. Again, she found herself wondering if she'd made the right career move for the right reasons. She must have been broadcasting her distress and unease, for the woman across from her reached out; touched her forearm lightly.

"You really will like him once you get to know him," Uhura assured her. "I honestly think it's just his thing—be all testy and short-tempered, so people don't realize just how much he cares. A defense mechanism he employs to hide from the rest of us just how much it hurts when someone he's responsible for doesn't make it. I think it's his way of insulating himself from that which is too painful." She switched gears. "I know it's a position I'd never want to be in—holding others' lives in my hands like that—but if something were to happen to me, there's no one else I'd want taking care of me, and I daresay I'm not the only one on board who feels this way."

Again, Christine found herself at a loss for words, unwilling to say something now that could come back to haunt her later. Thankfully, Uhura shifted the course of the conversation.

"Sorry, but I learned quite a bit about you today whether I wanted to or not. One of the downsides of my position, I suppose," she admitted frankly. "Sometimes it feels like I've got my nose in everyone's business." She sighed, favoring Christine with an apologetic look of resignation before forging on. "You're relatively new to Starfleet. If it's not too bold of me to ask, what made you join up?"

oooOOOooo

They had talked for over an hour in the mess, afterward Uhura taking her to one of the ship's rec rooms and introducing her around. All in all, it had been an enjoyable first evening, a stark contrast to the harrowing events that had marked her first day of duty on board. Uhura had offered to meet her for breakfast, and promised her a tour of the ship after their shifts were done tomorrow.

Christine sighed, the sound settling somewhere between contentment and exhaustion. In spite of how things had gone initially, she already felt an affinity for a number of people in the crew, a feeling which was sure to blossom as she worked closely with more and more of them. Although this had only been her first day, she was confident now that she was here for a reason—a reason that superseded finding Roger—and whether she wound up being a member of the crew for a few months or for the duration of the five-year mission, she felt she could easily call this vessel home.


End file.
